


Terrible Things (You've Done)

by tisfan



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, First Time Shifting, Inappropriate Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony Stark is out of time... and he’s done terrible things...Banned Together Bingo G1 - Restricted Dog Breeds: the piece that was banned for this discussed information about the dog in question, which are illegal in that township. I thought it would be a cute tongue-in-cheek if this pertained to lycanthropy, which would probably be illegal if anyone believed in werewolves.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Victor von Doom
Comments: 18
Kudos: 135
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Terrible Things (You've Done)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



_Twenty seven days and twelve hours later._

“You can’t be serious, Tones,” Rhodey said. He wasn’t quite blocking the door, but it was getting close to that. He meant well, Tony was sure of that, because Rhodey always meant well, but just this one time--

“Honeybunches, you gotta trust me,” Tony said. “Contrary to what everyone thinks, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You have no clue what you’re doing,” Rhodey muttered, but at least he got out of the way. Which was good, Tony could feel in his bones that he didn’t have much time left.

He was out of options.

Von Doom was his only hope, and that was terrifying. And yet, the alternative was worse.

“Let me go with you,” Rhodey said, catching his elbow. “If-- Tones, I don’t trust this guy, you can’t trust him.”

“I know,” Tony said. “But if it all goes wrong, I don’t want you anywhere near that shit show. Tell Pepper I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you gonna be sorry,” Rhodey said, dragging Tony into a bone-crushing hug. Or it would have been, Tony thought, if he hadn’t been _changed_. If there wasn’t something else new and alien inside his body, just waiting for its chance. He could smell Rhodey’s human odor, the way his skin felt under the press of Tony’s face, the way his heart beat. Enhanced, animal senses; he was a predator in a herd of sheep.

It was utterly terrifying.

And yet, Tony knew the longing to shed his clothes and run free.

_Run with me._

“Gotta go, prickly pear,” Tony said. 

The motorcar was already started in the drive, Jarvis would have seen to that, turned the crank and made sure the steam engine was fully pressurized. Tony had discovered only a few weeks back that a horse would have nothing to do with him, now. He’d nearly caused an accident the first time, the horses panicking and nearly killing his driver, Happy, in the process of rearing and kicking until the carriage wasn’t much use for anything aside from kindling.

The way was smooth, at least.

Von Doom was many things, probably more myth than man these days, but one of them was a lover of progress.

The roads were paved all the way from the city below to his castle.

That said, the motorcar wasn’t made to drive up a mountain, and it took Tony _hours_ to get there.

The sun was setting and Tony was panting for breath, fighting with everything in him not to-- whatever it was that he was going to do.

He barely remembered the parking brake, dashing from the motorcar to the front entrance of Von Doom’s castle.

Maybe he was expected; the door opened under his hand, and Doom was there, green cloak swirling in the evening breeze, that steel mask showing nothing of the man underneath, no emotion, no surprise, no nothing.

No mercy.

The moon peeked out from the horizon, and Tony felt the change shift in his blood.

There was no time.

* * *

When Tony woke up the next morning, he felt only moderately horrible. A three of ten on the hangover scale. The room was dimly lit, which was good, and he was laying on something that rather resembled a large dog bed, and he assumed that was bad.

He wasn’t dressed, either, which was pretty uncomfortable.

Despite his expectations, his hands weren’t drenched in blood -- although he did have a few feathers clinging to his skin, and his fingers and toes were filthy. 

He shivered again, trying to figure out where the hell he was.

Scrubbed his hands over his face; fingers came back flecked with dried blood. And there was a heavy, leather collar around his neck.

Right. This was really, _really_ bad.

A moment later, the door opened and he caught a glimpse of a metal sabaton, pushing a basket into the room. The door closed with a boom.

His nose, still wolf-sharp and sensitive, told him there was food in that basket. Eggs and toast and sausage and bacon and steak and berries. His stomach, not really caring all that much about his emotional state, growled.

He edged forward cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he was being careful of. That someone would come in and attack him, or that he would attack someone else.

He didn’t feel crazy, but he also couldn’t remember what had happened, the night before.

There were clothes, too. Soft, clean. Tony pulled them on. At this point, anything was better than being naked _and_ vulnerable.

At someone else’s mercy.

He was just settling in for breakfast when the door opened again.

This time, Doom swept in, a few of his identically clad servants behind him, one carrying a bucket and some towels, the other carrying a chair, which he sat in front of Tony and then Doom sat down in it.

“You’ve done terrible things, Mr. Stark,” Doom intoned.

Tony looked down at his hands. “Just tell me,” he said.

“First, you were completely disorderly, and got into the chicken coop. You’re just lucky that the rooster chased you out before you could eat more than two of my best layers, otherwise I couldn’t have any eggs for breakfast,” Doom said, and he flipped up his metal mask, looking at Tony with the same disapproval that people reserved for misbehaving children. 

Well, somewhat less disapproving than Howard had, since Doom didn’t really look ready to take a fresh-peeled switch to Tony’s backside.

“And you chewed up my best leather slippers, I’m quite put out. Also, you shed all over the sofa. Do you ever brush your hair? Further, you got into the midden heap. Trash, everywhere! What am I supposed to do with you, Stark? You’re like a badly trained puppy. It’s disgraceful.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open, all the muscles in his jaw refused to work.

Finally-- “What?”

“What did you expect,” Doom continued. “You don’t even know who bit you, it’s not like you’ve been initiated. Can’t expect perfect behavior out of your wolf when he’s got paws the first time. It was smart, coming here. I didn’t expect that, but I approve.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone?”

Von Doom rolled his eyes. It was surprising, really, how attractive Doom was. Tony’d heard the legends his whole life of how the man had gotten a trifling cut on his face when he was a boy and sealed the metal mask over it, still hot, to hide from the world.

There was only the thinnest scar on one cheek, and it didn’t make him ugly. As a matter of fact, he was quite handsome, with silvering hair and amber colored eyes. 

“They’re still telling that ridiculous story?” Von Doom said. “No, werewolves don’t eat _people._ They don’t track down their loved ones to rip out their intestines, and they don’t become mindless monsters.”

Tony held out his arm where the bite -- now a simple pink impression of teeth, fading. Soon it would be gone, he thought -- had been. “And then how do people become werewolves?”

“Bad luck, usually,” Doom said. “Look, don’t let me keep you from breakfast and then I’ll let you have a bath. Tonight, you’ll meet the were who made you, have your initiation. Meet your pack. It’ll be easier, after that.”

“Who made me?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Von Doom said, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “He was hunting, and you struck a creature with your carriage. Do you remember?”

“I thought it was a--” Tony blinked. He’d thought he’d hit a man, at first, that had staggered, drunk, into the road.

The thing in the ditch was no man, and had lashed out violently.

“You thought it was a man,” Von Doom said. “And so it was.”

A strange, sudden knowing filled Tony’s chest. “Who?”

Von Doom swallowed and looked at him. “I would have thought you’d have guessed. He’s me.”


End file.
